


Beaten, Not Broken

by LonelyAche



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Fix-It, Gore, Hallucinations, M/M, Necrophilia, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Time Travel Fix-It, Torture, past a whole lot of crap, poor Ardyn, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 14:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10618896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyAche/pseuds/LonelyAche
Summary: In the end, Ardyn wins; the Gods fuck with him and Ardyn still vows to fuck them up. Noctis is caught between the two warring powers and the choice of a future is his.





	

In the end, he had won. If he’d been capable of it, he would’ve laughed. The thought made little sense to Ardyn as his mind was picked apart; whatever had been left of his soul was torn free from the Starscourge’s festering grip by Noctis’ weapons and the Kings of ancient Lucis.

Still, that single thought remained, like a bright thread of light; even as everything else turned dark and Ardyn finally got the rest he’d craved for millennia. He had **won.** Astrals be damned, he’d finally gotten his revenge. Now he was happy to obey the words of a boy who’d hated him to the core, whom Ardyn had wanted to rip apart and tear inside him – his King, after all: Noctis had been the one to grant him this release. He closed his eyes as he waited for the shadows simmering around him to take him, too; to take his mind and his soul to nothingness, to forever.

Had he been corporeal, still, Ardyn would’ve felt himself smile. Instead, the ghostly sensation of tugging around where his lips should’ve been was all he got. It was good. And when was the last time he’d used that word? Good? Yes. Good.

The satisfaction was short lived.

Where there should’ve been the utter nothingness of the void, Ardyn’s feet collided with something solid. He startled – because he was gone; because he was dead – just in time to fall forward, bringing both his arms against his chest in ways of a shield. It didn’t stop. Ardyn knew, somewhere in his head, with thoughts that weren’t quite his, that he was defenceless, even as he hurtled forward and thrashed about, tangling himself in something smooth and soft, and unyielding.

Ardyn pushed the thick blanket off him. He fought to sit up, to breathe. A mattress sprung slightly under his weight and he bounced forward an inch. Non-existence didn’t seem very non-existent any longer, not with his bare foot lodged somewhere and his arms aching from the sheer effort it’d taken to set himself free. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, down the smooth curve of his chin. It reeked of sweet, syrupy medicine all around and all over him and he didn’t dare open his eyes. Whatever this was, it had to be one step – another step – towards his blessed, ungodly rest.

It didn’t matter that deep in the wreckage of his memories, the soft yellow light touching his eyelids was so familiar and so warm it coiled in his throat and ached deep inside of his chest. For a moment, Ardyn opened his mouth to speak, then to scream. The physical pain he’d always withstood, and, perhaps perversely, he’d enjoyed it too. When Noctis had sunk those swords into him, Ardyn had relished in the sensation. When Noctis had carved them deep through his shoulders, his abdomen, his limbs, pleasure had blurred his eyes, at his own death. And how perverse was that? It hadn’t been enough. Not until he’d fallen and bid the King his farewell.

Now, the sharp agony of remembrance seeped into his every pore. For the first time in longer than he’d kept count, Ardyn’s hands trembled with the fear of knowing what the scourge had destroyed in him. He’d moved on so long ago and never turned back. He’d embraced what he had become until the daemons in him were all he’d ever known and revenge was all he’d ever sought.

Ardyn’s fist curled over his own thigh. So small and naked, and so, so unfamiliar to him. Fingertips dug into his skin until he knew a bruise would flourish there soon and he drank in the familiar ache of physical pain. He was still for a very long time, trying not to think of the implications of any of it – because he had **won** and the idea of a worthless victory was not in him to consider. His hands didn’t move. His entire leg throbbed, a pain that ran bone deep. Still, like before with Noctis, it wasn’t deep enough, not until he’d carved himself out of this body.

He was a broken record.

A mess.

An amalgamation of corrupted memories and the lingering taint of the Starscourge colouring his every action since the beginning of time.

“Still asleep, prince?”

A voice shattered the silence at the same time the sound of a door being pushed open echoed in Ardyn ears. He yanked his arms away from himself, pushing his palms down on the mattress of the bed and blinked his eyes against the dim, sweet, and sickly light.

Not only was the room barely recognizable, with its heavy and garishly coloured curtains to keep the sunlight away, it wasn’t _whole_ either. Instead of the harsh steadiness of reality, the corners of Ardyn’s vision were dotted with a soft white glow where the walls of the room met... well, where they met _nothing_. Beyond the open door, the white void threatened to swallow the corridor, retreating a little when Ardyn finally focused on trying to remember where he was.

“You really shouldn’t have uncovered yourself. You won’t ever recover like this,” the voice continued, and it sounded obnoxiously concerned and so warm that the lump in Ardyn’s throat swelled all over again. “Come on, let’s tuck you in.”

Ardyn snapped up to stare at a woman’s face and immediately realised his mistake. Instead of features, a blurry gaping hole stared down at him. At first he thought he was looking at himself, or a daemon. Sharp, hungry lines blended together with the hints of humanoid features, twisted and ugly. If he focused, he could discern a little here and there – she had amber green eyes not too dissimilar from his own; her hair cascaded down to touch the top of Ardyn’s shoulders and the sensation was there, even if it was followed by the ghost memory of black ink dripping down his body. Horror must’ve coloured his expression, but if she noticed it Ardyn couldn’t quite tell.

Instead, he was being touched all over: the heel of a palm pressed against his forehead and another brushed strands of damp hair off the sides of his face. Claws dragged against his bare chest. _Or did they?_ He wasn’t sure if that was a past memory, but it was more physical contact that he’d had with anyone in aeons. And he didn’t have it in him to fight back.

He must’ve been seven or eight and near death’s door with some sort of chocobo-carried flu; his body had ached all over, and instead of keeping a servant nearby, his own mother had decided to keep an eye on Ardyn herself. He remembered how his best friend – a shaggy black bird with a big grey beak, dark eyes and a sturdy lope – had coughed himself dry and how he’d sobbed at the makeshift funeral as if it was the most important thing in the world. He remembered – and it hit him like a freight train – the resolve that had grown inside him: to make it better. To make everyone better.

He’d been ill when that resolve manifested _and how very like Noctis was that_. The parallels were all over Ardyn’s memory.

He hated -- no, he loathed it. The King was gone, dead, and with him, his lineage. Ardyn was gone and beyond the depths of desperation and entrenched in the misery he’d experienced in his extended life; this was a horror show he didn’t know how to withstand. In the end, it was much easier to dish out torment than to take it. Ardyn knew that, but then, the difference was small when he’d been in his own personal hell for centuries.

His body didn’t answer him when he tried to flinch away from his mother’s touch. Muscles moving of their own volition, Ardyn found himself reaching to cling to her. Acid curdled in his stomach, Ardyn’s breath hitched sharply in his mouth when he mechanically rested his head against her garments, unable to escape, breathing in her scent so unwillingly it hurt down his throat.

The coat-dress was a mottle of colours and patterns he couldn’t quite remember, pushed against his skin. They became a blur when she held him, one arm slipped around his then small waist while the other curled over his shoulder, gently lowering him back down on the bed.

“That’s better.” She smiled, but all he saw was a maw of razor sharp lines, as dark and long as teeth, reaching to engulf him. “Now try and sleep. l’ll be right here, and if you need me, you just need to call, okay?” Her voice was as sweet as gentle as nothing he could believe he’d actually experienced, even in his childhood, and Ardyn didn’t how to answer.

His mouth opened and found that the words just burst out on their own: “Of course, my sweet mother. I’m sure you would want nothing more.” It sounded like him, down to the drawl, the way his tongue worked around each syllable, elongating them. Something like relief flooded Ardyn’s body and he gripped the blanket to push it away again. Maybe, _maybe_ this was his end and maybe he could just turn it around enough to _enjoy_ it. Maybe.

A familiar darkness surged in his head, cradling Ardyn’s thoughts together until they skewed and decayed. The room faded away with a pang of... what? Loneliness? Desperation? Whatever it was, it was pushed away by the growing headache and the frustration of knowing he wasn't given enough time to adjust.

Ardyn seethed. “Won’t you show yourselves already, darlings? This game is starting to bore me, and you, I imagine,” he said, speaking still to the form of his mother standing with him in the newly formed void. And he waited.

In the end, he didn’t have to wait very long. The Six kept their own time and their own schedule, but even they didn’t enjoy being outplayed, and this had gone for far too long. For about two thousand years too long, plus however long he’d been stuck drifting in this timeless abyss.

A burst of light, similar to the blurriness in edges of the room he’d been in, alerted Ardyn to what was happening. All of a sudden, dizzying cold hit him. He was still naked and he shuddered at it.

“Ah, there you go.”

Mother was still touching him and Ardyn still didn’t pull away; instead, he watched with morbid curiosity and feelings he didn’t want to feel as the dress disintegrated away to reveal pale white-blue skin, covered only by shards of ice plate over the breasts and genitals. Ardyn could’ve scowled at how obvious of a trick this was – the oldest in the book – but then, that would’ve meant he should’ve seen it coming. He hadn’t.

_You really don’t learn, do you?_

Cocking his head to the side, he regarded the Glacian _._ “And what exactly is this thing I’m supposed to learn, my dear Gentiana, or should I perhaps call you by your true name now?” Ardyn pondered.

Shiva’s eyes were as cold as her touch on his shoulder. She ignored his comment for the most part and spoke without moving her lips, whispering icy words that burned through his haziness. _You’re here to remember, little one. Remember that even you are not one to meddle with gods._

“Ah yes, of course. Gods,” he gritted his teeth and exhaled in a long hiss, suddenly irritated by the turn the conversation had taken. Little? Maybe then. Now he was dead and it should’ve mattered not. “And what good have these gods done to the world in so long a time? Letting it rot away as you did.”

 _Had you grown to realise your own role as king, it would not have happened._ Her voice was soft, motherly almost. _We did not abandon you, although perhaps the others would not be so kind to admit it._

The blatant lie disgusted him. “Darling, you can tell me whatever you wish and we’ll both know you’re lying.” He had been abandoned by any and all, until there had nothing but what Noctis had destroyed. “I suppose you are in luck that you did have a young pretty king to manoeuvre and a prophecy to use.” He didn’t point out that Noctis had died for them, for their prophecy, for their precious clean slate on Eos. And for him, of course.

Not that his sacrifice meant much when he still hadn’t gotten what he wanted. For the umpteenth time, the thought crossed his mind: he’d won. Again and again. He’d won, but it’d been a losing game all along. And now he was stuck here, wherever here was. Stuck with the Astrals mocking his lack of foresight. Sweet heavens.

_If that’s how you wish to see it, Ardyn, then so be it. Your death needn’t be the continuation of your torment, forevermore._

The repetition of Noctis’ words sent a jolt down Ardyn’s spine that wasn’t quite physically painful as it lingered in his mind. He tasted bitterness on his tongue. If his death wouldn’t stop any of it, nothing would. His soul was clean – as clean as it’d ever be – from the Starscourge’s grip, his memories were in tatters, and he didn’t feel the slight inclination to seek them out; to seek such anguish.

_You need only remember, and accept your memories. Then you shall be returned._

For a moment, just after a flash of colour on the invisible horizon, Ardyn saw it. He saw his kingdom, saw the wall shining brightly around Insomnia. Saw the city and his people. Saw the smiles on their faces, the peaceful breeze and the flags proud on the Palace’s courtyard. He thought he saw Noctis, just the faintest glimpse of his face, and he jerked back violently. No.

“Unfortunately, your advice does come a little late. I must be older than I’d thought, so stuck in my ways, you see.”

With Shiva’s hand still pressing down on his shoulder, Ardyn could barely move, otherwise he might have attempted a mocking bow. But he didn’t have his hat either, so the whole thing was to be ruined either way. Her nails dug into his skin, freezing the flesh beneath until Ardyn was sure that whenever she pulled back, he’d bleed. Wasn’t _that_ a thought he enjoyed so much more than the vision he’d been shown.

 _Will you ever change, little one?_ There was a forlorn quality to Shiva’s voice that Ardyn couldn’t remember having heard before. But since when was he really paying attention instead of taunting? _You did this to yourself. Remember that, at least._

And before he could come up with a reply that satisfied himself, Shiva pulled her hand away, ripping a frozen layer of pale skin in the process. Blood pooled immediately to drip down his chest, bright red even in the dark – not black, not thick and coagulated by the Scourge. She may be kinder, but she was still an Astral, and Ardyn had never trusted, liked or even tolerated any of them, nor been given any reason to.

“Is this really how--” he began, words snarled.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he was flung backwards as if a weightless doll, a puppet of the gods. Of course. His breath was cut short in his lungs and though he didn’t crash against anything, he flailed, trying to grasp at something to anchor himself against. Ardyn failed pathetically; he floated in the void, his legs draped open, naked and his arms somewhere above his head. His mind reeled. Memories and fake memories – products of the Starscourge, of his own past and all the atrocities he’d committed – they all flashed before his eyes.

Shiva laughed softly somewhere in the distance, but there was no mirth in the sound, only pain.

In the distance, Insomnia stood still, an invisible presence and a pull Ardyn had resisted for _so long_.

Ardyn barely heard the whisper, the caress against his cheek, cold as only the Glacian herself could. _Don’t forget. You still have a chance._

When she left, vanishing in a trail of diamond dust, the darkness grew darker, pervasive in its intent to swallow him. Even the snapshots in his head grew darker, less truthful to what he had done, to what had actually happened: Ardyn saw himself above, inside Noctis’ defiled body.

He pressed two fingers against his eyes in an attempt to lessen the throbbing ache settling in the back of his skull. Still, the images didn’t stop, and in his mind, he saw the blank, unseeing gaze in the King’s eyes; the way his arms fell limp to his sides. Noctis didn’t move, and Ardyn knew he was dead, that he’d killed him, or sucked all the life, all the goodness out of him. He saw and felt himself move into Noctis, breaking the purple skin between the boy’s legs with his claws. Briefly, he glanced up to watch the beautiful piece of bladesmithing that was King Regis' sword pierce right through Noctis’ chest, smearing dark blood across one of his nipples.

Ardyn’s cock pulsed between his thighs. From his point of view he saw it drip black fluid onto Noctis’ bruised stomach. Tracing a finger through the little puddle of pre-come forming in the dead King’s belly button, he reached further down, drawing black lines, words that made no sense on Noctis’ skin. He grimaced, but was powerless to stop the hallucination from happening right before his eyes.

“Oh Noct, you have never felt so good,” Ardyn moaned softly, leaning forward to caress Noctis’ cheek, running the back of his fingers across his cold, stiff jaw. “We should do this more often,” he continued as he guided his blood and scourge-slicked cock back inside Noctis’ ass, in a rhythm that was entirely pleasurable to him, fucking his body deeper, looser. He pushed and pushed until he was spent and still buried to the hilt in Noctis and he delighted in it all, so tight and so cold, so amazingly wrong and perfect.

Once he was done, he yanked on the sword that he’d so painstakingly pushed through Noctis’ chest, through his lungs and spine, until blood had frothed from his lips, and smiled placidly. Ardyn waited few seconds before a jerk forced him to sit back,one hand stretching across Noctis’ lower back, pulling his body up with him. He saw the King’s eyes blink sluggishly as he tried to catch a breath and refocus.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s so very good, my dear Noct.” Ardyn leaned forward and brushed their lips together in a chaste kiss. He held the handle of the sword up, its tip resting on the wound slowly knitting itself shut in Noctis’ chest, layer by layer, bone and sinew crunching as they mended. Ardyn knew that particular kind of pain all too well -- after all, he was only being considerate, was he not?

“Now, now. Shall we go again?”

Noctis screamed as he thrust the blade back in; he convulsed and steeled. Again.

Ardyn screamed with Noctis as the sound rung in his ears, dying out as the vision moved away as if it’d never happened in the first place; as if Ardyn could simply forget it now that the Starscourge wasn’t there to pull it away. He screamed into the black nothingness, screamed himself hoarse. He screamed until it his throat was raw and blood ran down his bottom lip.

When it finished, Ardyn found that he’d curled onto his side. Floating in the dark made curling somewhat difficult, but his hands were firmly pressed over his knees and his knuckles stood pale in contrast with the rest of his skin. Ardyn hadn’t gone through the motion in so long he’d forgotten how, but his body knew to tense and inhale right before he retched blood into the void. The hint of tears burned in the corner of his eyes and Ardyn swallowed through them, letting go of himself to wipe away at the pain.

It was low -- even for the Astrals -- to put him through this. Hadn’t he suffered enough?

The light in the distance grew bright until it was a roaring wildfire in the inky blackness. First, he saw nothing; he felt nothing but the relief of having been pulled from the nightmares that were his hallucinations, even if briefly. Then, great horns emerged from below, flaring in the distance. Unable to do much than to waddle pathetically in the dark, that very same darkness which had ended up not granting him any rest, Ardyn watched as the Infernian closed the distance between them. It was hard to judge how far apart they stood when there was nothing to compare Ifrit’s encroaching form to, but still far enough to where he couldn’t touch Ardyn; the hairs on the back of his neck bristled at the hot breath that caressed his face.

 _Fancy seeing you here, false king._ Ifrit’s growl was more beastial than it was human or even Astral. It wasn’t quite the screeching mess of the Hydrean’s words, but that meant little when it came to godly beings. _Still stuck in the dark? Maybe you ought not to have flipped Shiva off so easily. She did tell you we’re not nearly as gentle._ And he grinned, with a row of razor sharp teeth, elongated canines, and a black tongue dragging across his lip.

Ardyn had no reason to believe it’d been a taunt. The wound on his shoulder had long since healed, leaving not even the hint of a scar marring his skin. And he’d dealt with Ifrit before, although it’d never been a particularly pleasant business. This time, Ardyn was quite aware he was playing with fire. Literal fire, like the one licking at his face as the Infernian grew closer. He’d never been too good at stopping himself, though, had he?

“Wouldn’t that have been a shame? To deny you your own opportunity to torment me,” he said, aware and vaguely horrified of thoughts that still didn’t feel _his_. “I’m sure your dear sister has grown tired of these boring visions, either way.” Ardyn tapped the side of his head, one finger pressing on his temple. He felt claws close enough to tear his arms off. “So boring.”

It was a lie, mostly. Ardyn tried not to keep count of the time he’d been left shuddering with the aftermaths of an orgasm he hadn’t experienced, wiping the blood and the tears from his mouth after screaming himself empty. After a while, even the hallucinations had grown dull, predictable, although not nearly as predictable as the foreign emotion which flooded his head after each one and told him he _deserved them_.

Still. Boring.

When Ifrit opened his mouth, Ardyn saw flickers of the beast behind the humanoid form the Astral wore. _Leave her out of this. We both know I’m nothing like that..._ Ifrit waved one arm, his skin glowing from the inside out, illuminating the darkness around them. _And we both know you’ve changed nothing,_ the Astral leered, and he was close enough that his lips and tip of his tongue brushed against Ardyn’s jaw. _Was it the scourge? Nah, it was you._

_It was you. All along. Just you._

A sharp pang ran across Ardyn’s chest. “Ouch, you got me: it was me. **It’s still me**. Isn’t that why you’re here?” He didn’t bother asking why the Six – those torturous gods – still bothered with him. Because he knew: Ardyn hadn’t let go of his victory, of his precious revenge. So he suffered in the knowledge that yes, he’d still won.

Claw tips rested on the underside of his arms. Ifrit was several times bigger than Ardyn had ever been and it’d never stopped either of them. Memories of this dance came to him in little flickers, torn pages from a book that’d never be whole again, nibbled away by the Starscourge. Centuries – maybe longer – had passed since he’d coupled with the Infernian.

He hadn’t wanted it back then, either. Not exactly. But then, whatever Noctis and the Astrals thought, he seldom had had choices to make.

 _Such a cocky human._ Ifrit’s voice was fire itself, cauterizing Ardyn’s skin. His lip curled and fangs lengthened in his mouth. When the Astral’s tongue lapped against his neck, Ardyn saw the flesh flake away and blood cascade down his shoulder. _Let’s see if you’re still talking when I’m done with you._

None of it would kill him, which didn’t mean Ardyn would enjoy it, but he’d known that the moment he’d seen the flames and he’d known not to resist an Astral, too. Centuries of fighting the scourge, of fighting his fate, of fighting Ifrit had taught him that. Indeed, when the beast forced his legs to part, Ardyn screamed -- because the pain was immense, overwhelming; insane, even. When Ifrit tore through him, with his teeth and his claws and his cock too, Ardyn’s throat was too raw, his lips torn and bloody until all he managed were little gasps, tiny hiccups and sobs.

He might have cried, but that wouldn’t stop Ifrit. Nothing would. There was no fighting a mighty, crazed god; and weren’t them all? So Ardyn endured it as best as he could, retreating within himself to stop his body from admitting defeat. Because he would never let them win. Not again. 

Only when was left in the cool darkness -- with semen and saliva coating his skin and deep gouges zigzagging across his chest, baring sinew and bone -- did Ardyn manage a coherent sound. He clenched his jaw, working through the coagulated blood in his mouth, spitting whole globules of it to float in the void. Each word took an eternity of forcing his tongue to cooperate and his muscles to heal a little faster.

“I will end you all.” For himself. For Noctis.

It was a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that compared to my other Ardynoct this is SUPER DARK. It will definitely end happily at some point, but for now, welp, poor Ardyn. Poor Noctis. Poor everyone. :'D


End file.
